


Letters in Hilary

by Greer Watson (greerwatson)



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: Epistolary, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:12:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greerwatson/pseuds/Greer%20Watson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew's side of their correspondence in Laurie's first term back at Oxford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters in Hilary

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This story was written for the Summer Challenge 2014 on the Maryrenaultfics LJ community.
> 
> 2\. At Oxford University, the Hilary Term runs from mid January to late March.

Jan 13th, 1941

Dear Laurie,

I’m not sure what to say about your last letter.  I sympathise, of course.  Your stepfather sounds like the sort of person one wants to be wary around—well, especially in my position, of course.  I don’t blame you for treading carefully.  Surely the important thing, though, is that your mother is happy?  Term starts in a week, anyway.

We’re getting it hot and heavy here at the moment.  (The censor may black that bit out, though why I don’t know, since it’s on the news every night.)  At any rate, I’m out of The Beeches as much as I’m home, which is probably just as well, for it’s sadly crowded.  Another F.A.U. group was bombed out while on duty; and, while we’re obviously all glad they weren’t home at the time, we’ve had them billeted here, with all that means.  One can manage with cots and cushions; but the bathroom schedule is quite another matter.  You need to imagine two of us trying to shave madly at the same time, each peering past the other into a tiny fly-blown mirror!  Absurd, really, to care about such things at a time like this; but it’s the little nuisances that seem to matter so much.

There’s obviously no way that I can get time to visit you in Oxford.  And you will be wanting to get your nose into your books.  Are you caught up yet?  The one good thing about staying with your mother at Christmas must have been the opportunity to read.

Write once you get settled down to the new term.

Yours,                
Andrew            

 

******

Jan 21st, 1941

Dear Laurie,

Your new tutor sounds like a decent chap—and, being too old to be called up, he’ll see you through to the end of your degree.  The place being half empty does sound dreary; but, on the other hand, it will mean fewer distractions.

Yes, I do know that “distractions” are half the joy of university life.  Or so I’ve heard.

What’s the place like?  If it hadn’t been for the war, I should, by now, be utterly familiar with Oxford, town and gown.  Of course, university life today is (as you say) quite different from that before the war.  Still, I’m curious to know how it would have been.  Or a bit more about how it is now, for that matter.

Yours,                
Andrew            

 

******

Jan 29th, 1941

Dear Laurie,

I’m writing this in the room I share with Tom, who is trying to sleep; but I dare not go downstairs to write on the kitchen table, for there are people having their dinner.  You may wonder at our sleeping in daylight, but we were up most of the night.  Anyway, I shall need to go out in a few hours, so I must get to bed.  However, I did not want to leave your letter unanswered.

I’ll write more when I get the chance.

Yours,                
Andrew            

 

******

Feb 6th, 1941

Dear Laurie,

Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. As you’ll have gathered (if only from the news), things here have been mad.

Thanks again for the letter.  I was going to be going up to Mansfield, as you know; but the description of your own college is fascinating.  Of course, each has its own quirks.  Still, the general view of “a day in the life”, so to speak, tells a lot.

So, even in these days, you can find student life if you look for it?  What a cosmopolitan lot you all sound.  Hobnobbing with three Americans, two Indians, and … was that a partridge in a pear tree?  No, a Burmese!  I suppose it’s inevitable with so many people called up at this point.

It’s just as well that Oxford’s status is international.  If it were not so, the place would be even more deserted.  The only British around at this point—barring a few like yourself—pretty well must be elderly dons and those military types you describe who have requisitioned facilities.  Uniforms at dinner in hall!  That must mix oddly with black gowned academe.  Is there a quorum for chapel, or do you have combined services with one of the other colleges?

Where we’ll all be after the war is something only God knows.  In any case, if I go up (which is the sort of thing that cannot be counted on), it will be long after you have left.  It would have been anyway, of course.  We talked about that didn’t we?  We would have just missed each other.

With all the ills war has brought to so many, the friendships it has facilitated must be counted as a blessing.

Yours,                
Andrew            

 

******

Feb 14th, 1941

Dear Laurie,

Things here are much the same.  Perhaps a bit quieter, at least one hopes so.  We’ve had a bit of a shuffle round, and new digs were found for our extra residents—though, in the event, some of us shifted to their unit and we kept a few of theirs.  Dave’s still playing housemaster, though.  I’m glad of that.

Your essay on Plautus sounds intriguing.  Odd to be writing about such a subject at a time like this—as though the City of Dreaming Spires is fast asleep.  Yet, on the other hand, it is good to know that, even in war, some matters remain untouched and normal.

Yours,                
Andrew            

 

******

Feb 17th, 1941

Dear Laurie,

Obviously, I’m glad for your sake that your friend in the Navy had a two day pass.  I did meet him, as you know; and, if he’s not quite my type, I know that the two of you are close.  Well, you went to the same school; and that always counts for a lot.

Yours,                
Andrew            

 

******

Feb 20th, 1941

Dear Laurie,

Thank you for your explanation.  I suppose I’m glad to hear that the man I met is not your friend Lanyon.  On the other hand, from what you wrote, I couldn’t quite make out why the other man was impersonating him.  In the circumstances (which, reading between the lines, I take to be essentially unchanged), you clearly didn’t feel you could tell me much more.  I’m sorry, but you do realize, don’t you, that that is telling in itself.

No, Dave didn’t mention a book.  What book?  I’ll have to ask him, I suppose, if I can catch him on his own.  We’re a bit busy again right now, though.

Yours,                
Andrew            

 

******

Feb 26th, 1941

Dear Laurie,

Dave says he no longer has the book.  Was it important?  If you were lending it to me, I can try to find a copy secondhand, though quite a number of the booksellers in London have been bombed out, I’m afraid.  (They may black that bit out, sorry.)

If you give me the title, I’ll see what I can do.

Yours,                
Andrew            

 

******

March 8th, 1941

Dear Laurie,

It’s nearly the end of term for you.  Do you have plans, or will you be staying in Oxford?  The authorities keep asking us to consider whether our journey is really necessary.  Even so, if you feel you can make it up to town for a couple of days, we can surely find a spot for you here at The Beeches.  It would be good to see you again.

I’m not sure how familiar you are with London, but you’ll find it has changed quite a bit.  Don’t worry:  we don’t let it get us down.

Yours,                
Andrew            

 

******

March 12nd, 1941

Dear Laurie,

Naturally your mother wants you to stay with them—and yes, I know that the vicarage isn’t home to you, but the village is.  “All the old familiar places,” as it says in the song.  With your leg so much better, you’ll be able to wander round the countryside the way you did before the war.  If nothing else, it will get you out of the house!

Yours,                
Andrew            

           

 

******

March 19th, 1941

Dear Laurie,

Please congratulate your mother for me—that is, if you’ve ever mentioned me to her, for I can see that it might be odd for her to receive congratulations from a stranger.

I know it must be difficult for you, when you’ve been an only child all your life. It will be more like being an uncle than a big brother! Perhaps it will help if you look at it that way? Presents at Christmas, that sort of thing.

Do try to see it from her point of view, though. She must be delighted.

Yours,                
Andrew            

 

 


End file.
